Her
by ladyluck25
Summary: Sherlolly. Sherlock gives her what she wants, what she needs in his own way. Sherlock x Molly
Sherlock Holmes may not express emotion, but he understands it, on his own level. He also understood what a risk that posed to those few close to him. All one had to do was look at everything John Watson had been through, and he's just his best friend. It would be ten fold over more dangerous for a significant other in his life. This is why, as much as he loved her, he would never act on it. Alone is what he has. Alone is what protects him. And everyone else around him.

Sherlock spent his life living the way his brother had taught him. To be a cold, calculating machine. Until one day, sentiment slipped into his heart like smoke through a crack in the form of a doe eyed brunette who offered him kindness, support, love without judgment, expecting nothing in return.

He knew with a single glance how far gone she was for him. He knew it the first time they met. He had used it to his advantage many times. Somewhere along the way the compliments became sincere, his words truth. Even if no one knew it aside from him. Sherlock was truly a selfish man. But she would never know that he ignored her feelings to keep her safe. He purposely said cruel and horrible things to push her away. She would never know the effort he put in to keeping her safe.

While Sherlock was off dismantling Moriarty's network the only lifeline he had to home was short exchanges with Mycroft, and less frequent, but more important calls to _her._

He would call in the middle of the night and she would answer. He couldn't tell her much, but he would lull her back to sleep with quiet assurances he was okay and he would be back soon. He would stay on the line for a few more minutes listening to her deep, even breathing, allowing it to wash over him like a high from a drug.

Sherlock had just returned to his tiny little flat in Germany when the call came. Mycroft quietly informed him a man had been caught trying to break into the pathologist's flat and he'd been swiftly dealt with. They were running a trace on him to see if he tied back to Moriarty.

Sherlock said nothing, ending the call. Internally he cursed himself for allowing any contact with her and thanked his brother for having a security detail on her. He always knew there was a chance it would come to light she'd been involved in his faked death, but it was the only way to ensure everyone stayed alive. The best he could do was provide the top security available and finish his mission as quickly as possible.

He didn't call her anymore after that.

When he returned to London to find her engaged logic told him radio silence had done the trick and it was a good thing she had moved on. Sentiment twisted his gut and punished him for not saying anything to stop the one he loved from being with another.

Her engagement ended and though the Janine fiasco and drug use distanced her, he knew she still loved him.

His biting remark in the lab when she slapped him was intended to be perceived as words he wielded against her like a blade in true Sherlock fashion. Logic told him this was bad, she needed, what's his name again... Oh yes Tom, because she wanted a husband and a family and Sherlock could never give her that. Sentiment made his chest warm knowing she no longer belonged to another man.

He thought Tom to be a blundering idiot, but he was safe. Mycroft had thoroughly vetted him and not so much as a parking ticket came back. He was a dull corporate accountant who seemed to be good at numbers, even if he wasn't good at anything else. He made a decent living, came from a nice little middle class family, and had a dog.

Before he left for his suicide mission in Eastern Europe, he asked one last favor from his older brother.

" _Keep her safe."_

 _Mycroft leaned backed in his leather chair and sighed, nodding. He wouldn't defy his baby brother's last wish, however full of sentiment it was._

Not four minutes into his exile he was called back to deal with the new (or old) threat. Climbing off the plane he searched Mycroft's face with his eyes asking a silent question. A minute nod told him she was safe, she was being watched, nothing would happen to her.

John demanded they go to Bart's so Sherlock could be looked over properly. Little did John know they were already headed there. Sherlock didn't speak. He prepared himself for the disappointment and anger she would have towards him at being high. He only allowed himself to slip back into that old habit because he thought he was going to his death.

Sherlock prepared himself to be slapped, to be yelled at, not for what actually happened. She read the results off and handed the sheet of paper to Mary before bursting into tears. Through the daze of the high and the fresh alertness of the impending threat, Sherlock felt his heart twist at her tears as sentiment once again took hold.

John threw his hands in the air and shook his head before leaving with Mary right behind him. Mycroft slit his eyes at his baby brother before stepping out of the lab to wait in the hallway.

"I'm sorry."

She pulled the bottom of her sweater up to swipe at her face before boring into him with eyes so full of disappoint he would have done anything to take away her pain.

"You should go back to Tom." He bit out like bile. "I'll find another pathologist to work with. You'll never have to see me again. It will be better that way."

She gave him a heartbroken face, worse than he'd ever caused before, and walked out of the lab as fast as her legs would take her.

"It's better this way." Mycroft said in what he meant as comfort. Sherlock said nothing as he followed his brother out.

That night Sherlock found himself standing over her sleeping form thinking how lovely she looked basked in moonlight. He slipped his long coat off and laid it over the chair and toed his shoes off. Just this once he would allow himself this. He crawled into bed next to her, careful not to touch her or jostle her awake. He closed his eyes and let her scent wash over him while he recounted all the reasons why they couldn't be together. Reminding himself why it was too dangerous, why it wouldn't work, why it could never be.

Months passed and Sherlock dove into the work, working swiftly with his brother to eliminate the threat which turned out not to be Moriarty and burying himself in case after case to ease his heartache.

He knew through John she worked things out with Tom and a wedding was imminent.

He wasn't invited.

More months passed before he gave in and waltz into the lab. She looked up at his intrusion. He quickly deduced she was stressed and tired. Not because of Tom. He was grateful for that, he had made the right choice sending her back to him. Because of something else. She wanted for something, but couldn't have it and it wasn't him this time.

"I've just come to run some tests." He spoke quietly and continued to his work. He spent the next hour trying to figure out what was bothering her. He left without a word, but glanced at her one last time feeling his heart pang at her beautiful face. He missed her.

A quick call to John solved his riddle. She was trying to conceive and had been unable to do so. Being in her thirties pushed her to seek testing to see if anything was wrong. Sherlock placed a quick call to his brother to have medical records pulled both her and Tom. A few minutes later Anthea arrived with a file he began reading immediately.

His chest ached and he realized it ached for her. He knew what he would do. He would make sure she got everything she wanted in life. She deserved even more than he could ever provide, but he could provide this.

He waited two weeks until he knew Tom would be gone for three days on business. He let himself in just as he'd done many times in the past. She was lying in bed reading and didn't notice him until Toby jumped off the foot of the bed causing her to look up. She startled and dropped her book.

"What are you doing here? Are you alright?" She got out of the bed and approached him looking for any sign he was high or injured.

Sherlock gazed down at her for only a moment before cupping her face and pressing his lips to hers. She pushed him away and stepped back.

"What are you doing?" She look so confused.

"I'm giving you what you want." She stepped back again so he quickly explained further, "There isn't anything wrong with you. Tom is sterile-"

"No, no he's not!" She shot back. "He's been to the doctor. Everything is fine."

"I had Mycroft change his paperwork because I knew I could fix this for you." He stepped forward.

"What are you talking about?" her brow furrowed.

"Tom is sterile. You'll never conceive with him. Instead of adding additional drama and strained emotions to your marriage, I had my brother doctor the paperwork." He took another step towards her. "I knew I could provide you with a baby. Tom looks are similar to my own. No one will ever know. You've done so much for me, Molly, and now I want to do this for you."

She stared up at him with a range of emotions flickering across her face. He allowed her time to digest everything he'd said.

"Is that acceptable?" He asked hoarsely.

After a couple of moments of contemplating, she nodded.

He took no time in closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her waist pulling her in close. He crashed his lips to hers. She hesitantly ran her hands into his curls and when he groaned she scratched her nails across his scalp. Sherlock walked her back and eased her down onto the bed. He moved with purpose as her removed her clothes and his own while keeping his mouth or a hand on her in some way.

He laid her down and took in the gorgeous view of the woman who stole his heart before he bent down and left a trail of hot open mouth kisses down her body. She tilted her head back and sighed as Sherlock lapped his tongue down her center. She tasted better than he could have ever imagined and his selfishness took over. This was solely about giving her what she wanted, a baby, but he was going to enjoy the only time he would have her like this.

Sherlock worked his fingers deftly inside of her and bit and nibbled and sucked and licked until she grabbed handfuls of his raven curls begging him to stop. He sat up and looked at her flushed body before pushing her thighs open and crawling between them. He entered her gently and his eyes rolled back at the warmth that enveloped him. Her body curled around his perfectly. She felt like everything he never knew he was missing.

He moved over her, peppering her face and neck with kisses. His hands gripped anywhere they found purchase. She moaned and keened beneath him and he knew there would never be a drug that could compete with the high of being inside of _her._

She came breathing his name and he fisted his hands in her hair. He kissed her hard as he followed right behind her.

" _Molly, Molly... Molly."_ His voice vibrated against her throat forcing her eyes closed to hold back every emotion she had worked so hard to bury. _"I love you."_

He laid over her, holding his weight off, but not ready to separate from _her_.

Eventually he pulled out and fell onto his side pulling her to his chest.

They made love twice more than night and again the next morning. He whispered confessions of love against her skin with kisses. Sherlock poured everything he felt for her into every touch and every moan and every kiss. After two days in bed with her, he had to leave before anyone noticed either of them missing. He dressed while she showered. She was sad to see him go, but she knew this daydream couldn't last forever. He tucked her in and say down on the side of the bed leaning in for a long, slow kiss.

"You know where to find me if you need me." His voice wrapped around her like velvet. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without crying or screaming or begging him to stay.

Three weeks passed without a word from her. Sherlock knew guilt was eating away at her. Another two weeks and he couldn't take it anymore. He donned his Belstaff like a coat of armor and made his way to the morgue. She was bent over a pile of paperwork with her hair pile messily atop her head. She looked up at him and gave him a small smile in way of greeting.

He took in the glow of her skin that he thought was always utter nonsense when people spoke of it and knew.

"You're pregnant."

She nodded and blushed slightly.

Sherlock quietly went to work on his experiment and didn't speak of it again over the months that followed. He paid rapt attention to every detail however. He left saltines in her desk drawers and decaf teas for her to find. She never said a word, but she knew it was him.

He worked cases for Lestrade and private clients the same to pass the time, all the while keeping up with every detail of her pregnancy.

John often found him composing, standing still by the window clad in pajamas and a dressing gown. He knew on those days to sit and not speak, although he didn't know why.

They were on a case when Mary called John to tell him the baby came. Sherlock hailed a cab before John had even hung up.

"Sherlock, I have to go to the hospital."

"I know."

John was baffled. He'd never seen Sherlock leave in the middle of an investigation before.

When they reached the hospital they found Mary sitting next to the new mother cooing to the baby. All that was visible from the door was a mop of ink black curls and Sherlock's breath already caught in his throat.

"Isn't he handsome!" John exclaimed moving in next to his wife and daughter to get a better look. His brows came down before his eyes widened. "He looks just like-"

"Me! I know. Isn't it great?" Tom exclaimed as he walked in with a cup of tea and a bowl of fruit.

Sherlock swallowed down his jealously like a bitter pill. Isn't this what he wanted? For her to be safe and happy in a boring life where no harm could come to her.

"What's his name?" John asked what Sherlock was thinking.

"William Christopher." Tom beamed. "Like her father, but reversed."

Sherlock grinned at that. He knew her father's name was Christopher Michael. She had given him Sherlock's first name. His chest felt warm and he fingered the CD in his pocket.

"I have to go check on my mum. I'll be back in a bit." Tom set the food next to her and walked out smiling.

Mary grabbed John by the elbow and pulled him up. "We're going to go put Grace down for her nap. I'll be back later."

"Sherlock, would you like to hold him?" she broke her gaze away from her son. _His_ son.

He nodded once he gained control over himself. She gently positioned the newborn in his arms and his throat grew thick with emotion. _Sentiment._ A smaller version of him was bundled in the soft blue blanket and he had no clue how anyone with an IQ even as low as Anderson wouldn't know this baby was a Holmes.

He never took his eyes from the baby as he shifted him to one arm so he could pull out the CD and hand it to her.

"Holmes Lullaby." She read and wiped at her eyes. "Thank you." She whispered

"No, thank you." He said softly. He trailed one gloved hand over William's face, memorizing every detail. He would never carry his name and he would be safe. A part of him would live on even after he was gone because of _her._

Emotion choked him. Sherlock handed the baby back to her and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before turning and leaving. He loosened his scarf and took quick steps until he hit the pavement outside.

John was waiting for him along with a black car a few spaces down from where they stood.

"I thought Grace needed to be put down for a nap." He remarked pulling his scarf completely off then retying it.

"I sent her and Mary home. Told her I'd be right behind them. I wanted to talk to you for a moment first." John put his hands in his pockets.

"Whatever for?" Sherlock mimicked his stance.

"I just wanted to wish you congratulations on your son." John smirked and winked before stepping to the curb and throwing his arm up for a taxi.

Sherlock was shocked for a moment then proud that after all these years John had finally seen and observed. He knew he would never spill the secret.

He set his shoulders and walked down to the black car just at the door opened. He slid in next to Mycroft and the car pulled away.

"Congratulations." He said holding up a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

Sherlock hesitated before taking the cigarette and placing it in his lips before his brother lit it for him and joined him with a cigarette of his own.

"Does this make us pansies? Shouldn't we be smoking cigars?" Sherlock eyed the cancer stick in his hand.

"The Holmes have never done anything like regular people." Mycroft scoffed.

"I want all of my assets left to Molly's child." Sherlock flicked his ash in the tray.

"I'll arrange for it." Mycroft said his face holding a hint of a smile.

Three years passed with the Holmes brothers being as involved with William as was safely possible. Sherlock saw him frequently during play dates with Grace. Mainly because he made sure he was there for most of them. To any outsider it would look like he was visiting John as usual.

He was in awe of how quickly William grew. He was tall with bright blue eyes and smarter than any child he'd ever encountered. Sherlock observed him like he had no one else in his life. All that matter was that they were happy. _Her_ and _their_ son.

Sherlock was pacing the sitting room floor and playing his violin one night when she walked in nervously. He knew from one glance what she came for. William was with Mary and John. Tom was out of town. Visiting his brother recovering from surgery on his knee. He would gone for four, no five days.

Before she could get up the courage to ask he dropped his violin and bow and was across the room to her. He crashed his mouth to her and pulled her down right there, taking her for the first time that night on the floor.

"Are you alright?" He asked after helping her up.

"I'm fine." She breathed out.

"Good." He gave her a wicked grin before scooping her up and carrying her to his bedroom where they stayed for the next three days. Three long days where Sherlock was in his very own personal Heaven that was _her._

Eight months and three weeks later he was once again on his way to the hospital with a new CD in his pocket. She has text two days before asking his mother's name.

Elizabeth Violet was a bit smaller than her brother and just as beautiful. Her tuff of curls were chestnut in color like her mother's but her eyes were as bright as her brother's.

Sherlock held her and handed over the CD of his compositions just the same as he'd done before with William.

His chest felt heavy with warmth and pride. No one aside from Mycroft, John, and Mary who'd figured it out on her own but never said a word, would know these beautiful gifts were giving to Sherlock by _her._

Mycroft again was outside in the black car waiting with a cigarette.

"Divide my assets between William and Elizabeth." He exhaled the smoke.

"Already done, brother mine."

With the thought of two children now heavily on his mind, Sherlock began taking high paying private cases. He put the majority of the money away into two trust funds. He ensured school tuitions were paid and plenty of money was put into an account so she could cut her hours back to part time to spend more time with the children and none of them would ever want for anything.

He now understood emotion and sentiment and love in a way he never imagined possible. He cared for someone besides himself even if most didn't know it. He only cared that she and her children, _their_ children were happy and loved and provided for. He had a purpose in life. It wasn't how she had dreamed of, but he gave her everything she wanted and needed in his own way. Over the years everything had become about _her,_ for _her,_ because of _her._


End file.
